𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐖𝐎
—𝚗𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚖𝚋𝚎𝚛 𝟷𝟷—

𝐌𝐄𝐋𝐎𝐃𝐘 𝐃𝐈𝐃𝐍'𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐓 to put the book down. Her fingertips clung to it as she read on, her eyes only leaving the words to flip to another mesmerizing page. It wasn't odd to her, though, seeing as this was her normal routine with a good book. But the fact of the fiction character seemed to make the story so much better than the ones she had previously read.

Melody wasn't used to the genre— science and historical fiction were her usual choice in topics, and the ones that she would continuously buy and read. And after reading them, she would add them to her large collection of books on a shelf that was nailed to the wall. And yet this book interested her so much more than any of the others.

"'Until the day the boy had left, disappearing far into the Snow Peak Mountains. And that night, as the sun began to set, the first blizzard set sail upon the small town of Westbrooke, Virginia.'" Melody reads aloud, before finally coming to a pause.

She closed the book quietly, placing it down on the bed beside her as she stared at her bedroom door in confusion.

"Just like that?" Melody asks herself, her eyebrows furrowed deeply. "It's over?"

She shook her head, before picking the book up again. She skimmed over the last few pages of the story, rereading the last sentences over and over again.

And yet, the sentences don't change; they only mock her repetitively. Over and over and over, the same words play in her head.

Never had she expected to be this confused and interested in a myth, let alone wanting to read more about it. Once again, she laid the book aside. Then she stood up, and made her way into the dining room, where her mother paced, lying plates down on the table with silverware, napkins, and glasses.

"Mother?" Melody asks, leaning on the door frame. "May I go to the library?"

"I suppose," her mother replies, not looking up as she sits another glass cup onto the table drapery, "but only for a bit. I want you home before dark, and dinner should be ready by then."

"Thank you!" Melody places a kiss on her mother's cheek, before darting for the front door.

It didn't take her long to reach the library; only a few minutes from as far as she could count. But it seemed like forever, as she wanted to learn more about the story. Clenching the book tighter in her hand, Melody opens the door to the remodeled public library, where she spent most of her time, if not with Clark.

The familiar librarian, Alana Fields, sits at her large desk, one of which she keeps stacked with book reports, category stickers, bookmarks, and scattered sheets of listed books that were kept in the library.

Alana was strange to most people; a girl that didn't make sense. Why spend your life in a quiet building alone when you could converse with friends? Why waste precious moments expanding the library when you could find a useful job? But to Melody, Alana had the best job that anyone could ever ask for.

To the townspeople, it wasn't surprising that Melody longed for such a depressing and useless job. To them, she was just another Alana Fields. But Melody had constantly dreamed of being a librarian, and envied Alana. After all, reading was basically everything Melody ever did.

"Alana?" Melody asked quietly, her eyes grazing over the librarian who was scribbling on a piece of paper.

Alana looked up at once, placing down her pen. The older girl adjusted her glasses, before giving Melody a sweet smile— one of which she oftenly offered to her favorite visitors.

"Hello, Melody," Alana said cheerfully, her dimples showing on her flushed cheeks. "What can I help you with today?"

"I was actually looking for more information on a . . . well, a myth," Melody clears her throat, stepping up in front of Alana's cluttered desk.

"Oh, my favorite!" Alana chimes, jumping to her feet. "Which one were you interested in?"

"The Tale of Frost," Melody says clearly, watching as Alana's eyes light up.

"Well, you've come to the right place, Mel," Alana gestures for her to sit. "I've got just the thing."

She disappears in the row of books that sit behind her desk, balantly rushing around. Melody silently sits down in a chair as Alana reappears, holding a stack of what looked to be newer books.

"I've actually just gotten a series of these books," Alana says, pushing her glasses farther onto her nose. "A new shipment from across the Peak. It took a few weeks because of the high demand, but they got here."

"Is this an old story?" Melody asks, looking over the cover of the book that Alana handed to her. She places down her book from Clark, skimming the pages of the one in her hands.

"Nope," Alana replies, taking a seat at her desk across from Melody. "I'm surprised you haven't asked about them before. I suppose it was only supposed to have happened a few years back."

"But I thought it was always snowing in Westbrooke," Melody glances up from the book, an eyebrow cocked in confusion,

"It's a myth, Mel," Alana chuckles, opening up a book, and setting the others aside. "And besides, that's a part of the story anyway. Says it at the end of that book, page seventy-six, I believe . . . "

Melody flipped to the page, before reading its contents out loud.

"'A tragic spell— or curse, told by some— was then set upon the small town of Westbrooke, to erase their memories of the days without snow. Only then would they not think of the myth to be true; as their minds would decieve them.'"

"See?"

Melody shakes her head, releasing a small sigh. Why had she believed it was true? Beyond her disappointment, she wanted to learn more.

"So, what really happened?" She questions Alana, closing the book. "I'd like to hear it from something other than a book."

"Well, I don't have all the information," Alana shrugs. "But I can tell you what I've heard from others."

"Go on," Melody urges, leaning forward slightly.

"His name was Frost." Alana states. "His mother was a seamstress for the local tailors, and must've been widely known. She had her son by a merchant, who left town not long after she found out she was pregnant. But she decided to keep the baby, she didn't want to take its life because of a deadbeat father. On the day he was born, myth has it that his hair was pure white, and his eyes were as blue as the ocean. That's why she named him Frost."

"He was a great kid, who never got in trouble. They said that they never saw it coming, the day he—"

But before Alana could finish her sentence, the library door had bursted open, revealing chunks of snow falling from the sky, sweeping harshly in the wind. The small white crystals danced across the entry floor, brushing across the stained wood, before melting, disappearing as if it was never there.

Alana stares for moments, before standing from her place, and marveling at the blizzard outside.

"It's beautiful," she murmers, sending a smile Melody's way. "I hoped there would come a snow today. I always enjoy the fresh air it brings through the library windows, and through the cracks of the doors."

Melody nodded, but only slightly, as she was trapped in a sort of daze. How had the doors opened up on their own? Of course, the snow was heavy, as was the wind. But to open a closed door? It was unnatural.

She decided to say nothing, only watching as Alana walked to the open doors, feeling the cool breeze on her face. And soon, Melody joined her, no longer holding back by her thoughts.

Melody enjoyed the snow, as everyone else in Westbrooke did. Even though it was normal, the snow always seemed to captivate them with its beauty. They were blessed, Melody felt, to have such a beautiful thing so oftenly.

As she stood in the doorway, her shoulder brushing Alana's, she took in the scene outside.

In the short time that she had been in the library, a good four inches of snow had piled up. But this wasn't something that was surprising. The ground was blanketed with white, every nook and cranny covered with the sheet of snow. And as the snow began to dance into the library doors, Melody began to feel the snowflakes on her warm cheeks- something she thought could relate to tiny, cold kisses.

"Quite a coincidence, isn't it, Mel?" Alana questions, nudging Melody lightly in the waist. "That we talked of Frost before this, I mean. Maybe it isn't a fake story . . . "

Melody only shrugged, not wanting to get her mind too tangled into the thought. She came here for a reason— and she guessed maybe it wasn't a good reason after all. Maybe it was stupid of her to even think the story was real in the first place, as it was only a tale in a book.

A myth.

"I think I should be off, Alana," Melody steps back, allowing her body to drift back to the desk, where she grabbed her book. "Thank you for the information."

"But don't you want to hear the whole story?" Alana asks the girl, a slight tinge of hurt sparking in her eyes. "I promise, it won't take long to tell you the rest."

"I'm sorry," Melody apologizes, pulling her book to her chest. "I don't think the story is all that interesting anymore. I will be back tomorrow, Alana. Goodbye."

Melody stepped forward, passing Alana, who straightened her glasses again. She felt bad for wasting the librarian's time- but she promised her mother she would be home before dark. And as far as Melody knew, it was close to it.

She laid her hand on the cold metal doorframe, glancing into the pure white land outside. She placed a hand at her forehead, shadowing her eyes from the heavy falling snow. As she took another step forward, her boot crunching the snow beneath her foot.

"No, Melody!" Alana yelped, jumping forward to grab her arm.

Melody looked back at her, confused and worried by the girl's reaction towards her step.

But as she turned around again, to see what Alana could possibly distressed about, she was shoved onto the floor, her head bouncing against the wood.

And as her consciousness faded from the serious pain, she allowed her precious book to fall from her clutch, and her vision blurred.

But not before her gaze wandered over a black figure that stood at the doorway, his piercing blue eyes meeting hers.

And then she closed her eyes.

________